Mars and Venus
by Schizoid Sprite
Summary: Ficlet 3 up: "I can pick up nicer girls, you know—-they’re scattered everywhere! Nicer… and not like someone who’s spitting sharp vogue thrusts at every living thing with clothes on while she herself needs to call someone for a fashion 911.” 4/Dorothy.
1. From The Viewpoint of Women

**Disclaimer:** Gundam Wing and all its characters © Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, and TV Asahi. All my works are not for profit.

**A/N:** Yaay, something new! Here's a little ficcie that I hope you'll enjoy while I polish my next update for Scissored Kismets. Hoho, R&R!! The women's org that I mentioned here is real, but the situation has never happened; is based off a scene in Haruki Murakami's book entitled _'Umibe no Kafuka_' (Kafka on the Shore). Go read it, it's funnnn! :)

Forgive my Wufei for being OOC in this one.

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**"From the Viewpoint of Women"**

by Schizoid Sprite

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"_I expect Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man."_ -George Meredith :P

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Wufei was chewing on the third mouthful of his first meal for today—bubble and squeak in a lunch box, the usual 'Preventer brunch' as Sally had called it—when a middle-aged lady entered and marched straight towards the reception desk.

"Yes, what I can do for you ma'am?" the receptionist for the day asked, beaming cheerfully like how a fastfood crew member would.

"Good morning to you, sir," the lady greeted, pushing her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. The receptionist threw Wufei a glance, and he responded with a laugh that if wasn't stifled would have caused a spray of half-grinded brussels sprouts and carrots. He grabbed the canteen and tried hard not to choke, his eyes continuing the laughter.

The lady cocked her pepper-and-salt head to one side. She fished out a business card from her handbag and handed it to him. "I'm a representative from the General Assembly Binding Women for Reforms, Integrity, Equality, Leadership, and Action."

The receptionist nodded on every word, his eyes on the card. "GABRIELA…It's under the Mariposa Alliance."

"That's correct," she replied. "We're currently conducting a nationwide investigation of public facilities from the viewpoint of women. That concerns mainly fair access and other issues connected to it. I am investigating this part of the country, and from what I have researched I think this Preventer center have some issues that need to be addressed."

Wufei saw how the receptionist mouthed the words 'from the viewpoint of women' from where he sat. _Nice topic,_ he thought. They both waited for the woman as she fumbled to open a manila envelope and pulled out a creased paper.

"I would like to speak to your superior on this matter," she deadpanned.

"I'm currently taking charge of this center," he answered warmly. "There are a lot of Preventer centers scattered around this region and apparently our superior would only operate from the main Preventer Headquarters."

She seemed to mull over this for a while. "Very well then," she decided. She ran her eyes over the document first before she spoke again. "Your center has a restroom that is shared by both men and women."

He nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"According to previous studies, women prefer to have a separate facility for them, for the sake of safety and equality. As a public facility, I think that in principle, you should put up a restroom set aside for females. Haven't you heard reports that shared facilities often rise to all sorts of harassment?"

He stole another glance at Wufei, who was smirking.

"Another issue is that we've learned that your sector recruits mainly male applicants. Only ten percent of the Preventer population is female. This rises up to the issues concerning job stratification, income-generating activities, and gender role stereotyping between the two sexes. We know that we are living in a modern world now, so why don't we live the modern way? I found out that among the thousand women that applied for a position in the Preventers this year, you only hired seventy of them while among the same number of men who applied, you decided that more than half of them are qualified."

Wufei noted the shallow furrow between the receptionist's eyes.

"Ma'am, as for the first issue," he started uneasily but with an amiable curve of a smile, "We all have our reasons for putting up only one restroom. As you can see, our center is not that big; we hardly have the space for another toilet. Apparently, none of the civilians who often come here stay that long to use such services. They just stay long enough to report a crime in this area, and that would take only a maximum of ten minutes. The ones who usually use it are us, the Preventers. Approximately we have fifty officers here, including the agents from the night shift. Complaints were unheard of, as far as I could remember."

"That is because of issue number two!" The woman almost shrieked. "You don't have enough women here to complain about this _predicament_!"

"We'll go on to that," the receptionist said quickly, "but if you're still going to pursue issue number one further, then I say you must also go to the Lunar Base aviation headquarters and file a complaint on the issue of its spaceports having shared restrooms. If you're considering convenience so you can type up something for your report immediately, you can go to any of Earth's spaceports, too. If my memory serves me right, I believe that all of the roundtrip passenger space-buses have shared restrooms. All of them were far bigger than our center and are full of people in every hour that they function."

There was a triumphant silence that lingered around the receptionist after that.

"We're talking about _your center_ here, not space buses or spaceports," the woman retorted.

"But you said you're investigating public facilities," he responded. "Aren't most of spaceports and means of transportation on Earth and the colonies public ? And wouldn't the same issues bear the same problems? "

Silence again. Point two for Mr. Receptionist.

"As for the second predicament," he emphasized the last word with a derisive edge in his voice, "I think we could explain that well. We in the Preventers are hiring only the ones who we think are qualified, being the most trusted security institution here and at the colonies. We have our sense of integrity; gender is not exactly the thing we are concerned about. Military background is of course our main requirement. Mostly, we hire the fresh graduates from the best Military schools like the Lake Victoria Academy and most of the students there are male. In fact, most of the military co-educational schools we know have greater number of male students. If those percentages you said a while ago are true, then we must say that most of the women who applied this year didn't pass the series of test we are giving all the applicants."

The woman jutted her chin up. "I expected from the beginning that you are just like those men who are tied to the status quo. You always regard women as your inferior, lower-ranking citizens!"

The receptionist beamed. "Just a little trivia. Do you know that in ancient Athens, the definition of the word citizen doesn't include the women?"

She gaped incredulously at him. "That's just it, sexist!"

"No, wait," he said calmly, palms up, "It's just something I have to insert. I have to prove that you're wrong."

The old eyes widened and her spectacles slid down as she perspired. "Explain to me exactly why I'm wrong."

"First of all, ma'am," he said while digging for something in his pocket, "I'm not one of those 'men who are tied to the status quo'."

"You just proved that you were."

In response to this, he handed her of what looks like a driver's license to Wufei. Both watched with anticipation as the lady's eyes grew wider—if that was even possible—as she read the content of the little card.

"Lucrezia Noin ma'am," the receptionist said with a one-sided smile. "Preventer First Lieutenant and female."

She made it sound like the two titles always go together. The woman crinkled his nose at the license and raised her glasses to her eyes, then squinted at the officer in front of her.

"That makes your accusation technically wrong, ma'am," Noin stated matter-of-factly, "since I'm not a man and I was never tied to the status quo. If you think we still have issues that need to be addressed from the viewpoint of women, please feel free to pay our superior, Lady Une, a visit at Geneva. That's where our main headquarters is located."

She reached out to take back her license from the frozen old lady, who apparently just learned that even their superior is a woman. Noin smiled as pleasantly as possible, but Wufei could easily see that her eyes are blazing with contained laughter she was aching to make. He doubted that the lady could notice that.

As the old woman get her bearings, she mumbled something to herself and spun around rapidly, her embarrassed steps towards the door making the tiles squeak. When Wufei thought that the woman was finally out of earshot—roughly some seconds before she even reach the door—he burst into teary chuckles. Noin was motionless for some heartbeats.

"Maybe you should let your hair grow a little longer," Wufei suggested between his uncontrollable sniggers. "I think Zechs would even like it."

"Or," Noin said cheerily, "That organization should hire younger investigators. I made my voice as girly as possible while talking to her and she didn't notice it until the end!"

The center echoed with hoots and teases as the little happening was passed on from one agent to another. By the time Wufei remembered his lunch again, it was as cold as it once was before being considered bubble and squeak.

"My meal needs a third reheating," he protested.

"The lunch break will be over in five minutes," Noin reminded him.

"I know," he replied. He forked the sausage and resumed eating. "I think this is the best brunch I have since I joined the Preventers."

"Glad that I can be a source of entertainment," she said in mock bitterness, hearing the implication of his statement.

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fin.


	2. How I Want It

**Disclaimer:** Gundam Wing and all its characters © Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, and TV Asahi. All fics are not for profit.

**A/N: **So I've decided to put up another ficlets collection. Hee, I originally planned to have only one (Adams and Eves), but there are a few ficlets I wrote that have more than five sentences in length, so this series is born!

This is for Chibi Rose Angel, who is still tolerating my insanity in emails. :)

This ficlet is somewhat taken from a scene in another story in my list, _Scissored Kismets_. It can be read alone, though.

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**How I want it**

_by Schizoid Sprite_

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_"Those that know, do. Those that understand, teach."_ -Aristotle

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"You're not doing it right."

Relena crossly brushed a stray lock away from her face, wishing that her irritation would be thawed easily like that green ball of paste she stirred in the soy sauce. Yes, she knew she wasn't doing it right, and him echoing that every once in a while wasn't helping. She gripped the sticks with her fists, chewing on her bottom lip while Heero shifted ever so slightly next to her.

"You're not doing it right," he repeated.

"Say that again," she narrowed her eyes to slits, "and _I'll kill you_."

The words felt somewhat foreign and profane to her own ears; Heero's face, in her peripheral vision, didn't even twitch with reaction. _At least, _she thought bitterly, _that's better than him condescending me_. She dragged the chair closer to the table and squinted at the dish in a way a scientist would look at a specimen in a microscope.

"I don't understand why they mash crab meat and mango together," she mulishly complained, twirling one chopstick like a miniature baton. "And with rice and soy sauce with this green substance—"

"Wasabi," Heero corrected with disinterest. "It's not their fault that it's your first time to eat Japanese food."

"Not mine either," she said after flashing a seconds-long glare. "I don't even know why I'm here… I don't want to eat Japanese food in the first place."

"_Don't want _to eat Japanese?"

Relena heard the smirk in his voice, but she didn't look up.

"Or don't_ know how_ to eat Japanese?"

She opened her mouth for a retort, but realizing that she really has nothing to say, clumped it shut with a pout. She enfolded the sticks in her balled fists and attempted to impale one of the lumps by poking it.

"You're not doing it right."

"And you're not doing anything to make it right," she muttered to herself with a roll of her eyes. The more Relena tried to trap at least one of the little lumps, the more they become malformed because of her continuous prodding. After several tries, she permitted herself a deep breath and stabbed one of the rolls, leaving the stick to stand on it like a cross on a grave.

"Give up already?" Heero asked. When she didn't respond, he pulled out the stick from the food and positioned it to lie at the joint of her thumb and middle finger. "It's easy."

He lifted her forefinger and instructed her not to let the stick touch it. She raised a brow, watching him get the other stick.

"I felt like being guided to write for the first time," she commented, trying hard to sound churlish while enjoying the calloused feel of his hand on hers.

He just hummed while aligning the sticks parallel in her hold. "Now try to move this stick towards the other," he deadpanned. "The other one should be stationary."

Relena cocked a nod, unable to hide her grin when Heero tilted his head approvingly at her finger movements. Feeling more confident, she slowly trapped the now almost formless California maki between the shaking woods.

"Pick it up," Heero encouraged. She lifted the roll like it was a trophy; when she sent it to her mouth, it tasted more wonderful than she thought. The next few picks had the food slipping to the plate or onto the table, and while she groaned occasionally about it, she was more than satisfied that she could finally use the utensils properly.

It was only when there was only one piece left that she noticed Heero not touching his own helping.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "You don't want to eat?"

Heero looked at her as if the questions were inane, then swiftly brushed a tissue away—revealing a set of silverware underneath. He raised a fork and started eating while Relena gaped disbelievingly at him.

"Why are you—"

"I don't know how to use chopsticks," he said.

"You just taught me!"

"I taught you what I observed in other people," he shrugged. "But not everything I observe is what I apply to what I do. Ideas that belong to that category are also considered 'unknown' to me."

"But you do know it," she insisted. Why should simple things like this be so complicated when it comes to him?

"I don't want to do it."

Silence fell on them after that. Suddenly, Relena wiped her chopsticks and snatched her own fork. Heero watched how she twisted her hair up in a bun and wove the wood in them to make it stay in place.

"There," she patted her hair. She stared at the utensil she was holding, sneered, then put it back to where she picked it. "I might as well just eat it the way I want it, right?"

Heero smiled amusedly as she thumbed the precious things and chucked them to her mouth.

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fin.


	3. Arm Candy

**Disclaimer:** Gundam Wing and all its characters © Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, and TV Asahi. All fics are not for profit.

**A/N:** I know, I know. I changed the title of this collection from _Squalor_ to _Mars and Venus_, and that's because I think it'll be a more appropriate title as a counterpart for my mini-series collection with the same genre called _Adams and Eves_. Apologies! It won't happen again, promise. :)

As for this next installment...anyone who's been reading my works before will recognize this. It's from my 4xD ficlets series 'Black Ivory, White Ebony', which suffered an untimely demise because of some stupid glitch deleting it--ficlets and all. *sigh* Sometimes, this dark, vast, smelly Pit is just plain irritating. XD I'm going to re-upload the ficlets soon, though not as a series collection this time. Anyhoo, some part of the convo of this ficcie is 'retouched'. Hope you enjoy it!

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**"Arm Candy"**

_by Schizoid Sprite_

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_"Above all, remember that the most important thing you can take anywhere is not a Gucci bag or a French-cut jeans; it's an open mind."-_ Gail Rubin Bereny.

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"Fishtail! And not just that—it's _latex_!" Dorothy managed between gnashed teeth with utter disgust, her eyes rolling. "Seriously, what was she thinking? That she's little mermaid, squeezing herself in that poor garment? She's in a political function, not in a fairytale-themed school play. Just looking at her makes me want to eat sushi."

Quatre hid his cough behind his flute, champagne still untouched. "Dorothy, you're not here to be a fashion critique," he reminded her with a small frown.

Dorothy heard him clearly, but she just craned her neck around to drink in the rush of the would-be recipients of her haute couture brickbats, plainly ignoring him. "And oh, here comes that Miss Senate President. What the—what kind of gown is _that_? She needs diet, doesn't she? Bet she couldn't breathe in that! And I could've sworn I saw a restaurant with curtains of the same fabric—"

"Dorothy—"

"She's lucky to have a keychain—I mean escort, that young actor. He's got a good taste, with that quite dapper tux. Oh—"

"Dorothy, stop it."

"And that L3 representative… Hmm. Is she wearing an old pillowcase or what? The garment's silently screaming for a trash bin."

"Dorothy, please..."

"Look who's here. Miss Relena! Isn't she so cute? A Barbie doll perfect for a wedding cake topper..."

"Dorothy!"

Now irked by his little chidings, she shot him a glare and partnered it with a sour scowl. "What's your problem?"

"Could you just stop picking on everybody's outfit tonight?" He placed his flute on the table with a heavy sigh. "Honestly, I'm a little annoyed… and isn't it too inappropriate for someone like you to behave like that?"

Dorothy glowered. "So it's now inappropriate to give honest criticism?"

"I never said that."

"Then why stop me?" Dorothy said with an arch of one brow. She took a swig from her own flute without taking her eyes off her escort. "You know that I'm always blasé about these kinds of gatherings. I wouldn't come if I could help it—but you just have to drag me here and bore me to death. Don't you think it's natural for me—for _anyone_ who's in the same godforsaken situation—to find some kind of timewaster?"

He chewed on his lip. "Uhm, I guess that—"

"You owe me big time by just choosing me as your personal arm candy," Dorothy snapped. "I don't ask anything in return but my freedom. Of _talking_."

Quatre, still biting his bottom lip, raked his hands through his locks. How many times have they talked about this topic? "Dorothy, I've said this a million times before, I'll say it again. You're _not_ just my arm-candy."

"Oh? Don't I just look good dangling on your arm?" she mocked. "A decoration, an accessory? Goodness, Quatre, you haven't even asked me to dance even once since we came here! The longer I stay with you, the longer I become a wallflower. A poor, wilting wallflower at that."

"You can just go away if you like," Quatre said brusquely with an atypically deep frown, impatience finally leaking. "I don't need you anyway."

A sudden surge of apologies threatened to spill out his mouth after he said those words, but he managed to keep it at bay. He furtively peeked through his lashes to see a reaction from her. She didn't look offended or surprised by his sudden change of mood--not one tiny, little bit.

She even asked something that made him narrow his eyes in curiosity: "Did you finish college, Quatre?"

"No…not yet, at least," he said, suddenly suspicious. "I'm planning to apply for a university admission test this year. I really want to finish my studies, even if I have to attend just as a part-time student. It's expected for my sisters disagree with this and they're insisting on just hiring a private tutor so I won't have to leave the..." He stopped when Dorothy yawned. He groaned, irritated. "Why do you even ask?"

"Nothing," Dorothy said casually, pretending to stifle another yawn. "I just have to suggest that if ever there's a course in AB Lying major in Excuses and minor in Alibis, please do take that. I can sure bet you'll be a scholar."

His eyes widened. "I'm not a liar!"

"You said that you don't need me. Isn't that a downright lie?"

"N-no it's not!" He denied defensively. "Why would I need you? It just so happened that we're both Earthside this week—and, coincidentally, we stayed in the same hotel. I can pick up _nicer _girls, you know—they're scattered everywhere! Nicer… and not like someone who's spitting sharp vogue thrusts at every living thing with clothes on while she herself needs to call someone for fashion 911."

That did it.

"Come again?"

"I said your sense of fashion is bad," he paraphrased. "And I say bad, with a capital B."

"Look who's talking! Where else will you find a multi-billionaire who wears only one style of loafers all his life? Nowhere else but at the CEO's desk of the main Winner Company building at L4!"

He smiled smugly and angled his head in a way like he was patronizing her."You know, sometimes, you need to taste your own medicine. Where else would you find a walking stick dolled up with that frothy piece of cloth she calls a gown, but here beside me, looking as if she's going to eat me?"

"I'm not a walking stick!"

He brushed her off. "And get this—this skinny scarecrow has this deathly pallor and pale hair, and the white rag she wears does her no favor. Seriously, she could pass up as a ghost."

Dorothy frowned. "I think I hate you, Quatre."

Quatre smiled. "I love you, too, Dorothy."

He scooted and snaked his other hand around her waist. He laughed when she pouted and tried to struggle away.

"Sometimes, I find it hard to identify what you really are—whether if you're a woman or still a kid. You're sandwiched between cold logic and childish tantrums."

She didn't reply.

Quatre sighed. "Okay fine, you win. What do you want to do with me now? Now that I pissed you off with—what do you call it, my ROM brain that won't accept any 'inputs' from what you say?"

She snickered at his last words. She tugged at his collar and pulled him closer, so that their lips were now just millimeters apart.

"I think we should at least merge our opposing sense of fashion," she murmured before she fingered the first button of his suit. "You know, you don't really need this jacket…"

He lightly placed his lips on hers and, almost hesitantly, pulled away. "Not the best time for it," he chuckled with a wink. "I think you should fulfill your 'decorative purpose' here first until the party ends, my_ arm candy_."

She beamed evilly. "Right."

Quatre picked up his flute again with a satisfied nod.

"Hey, that's congresswoman Bradfurt, from L2," Dorothy whispered, her sly smile widening. "Scandal extraordinaire, she is. Is there fabric shortage on the colonies? Why does she always mistake balls for red-light districts?"

Quatre suddenly felt very tired, and he could've sworn he'd never been this exhausted before, during the days of war.

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fin.

_Additional A/N:_ It's very unrelated to this story but...Happy father's day, everyone! Hee!


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